[ Eames, much to his bad luck, is off on a job for a couple weeks. Non-dreamshare, utilizing his other shadowy skills. Mainly, theft. The kind that involves a long con, pulling the wool over some poor sap's eyes. Arthur didn't ask for details, didn't expect Eames to give him any even if he did ask. All he's got is an emergency number for a burner phone and an email address.
Well, not just him, Eggsy has the same information.
Because the three of them live in some odd harmonious polyamory. Arthur had never seen himself as the type to share easily, but when it came to the arrangement, it just worked. Maybe it's the fact that they're all criminals. Or maybe their personality traits balance out in the end. He knows he can be a bit married to his work– either Eggsy or Eames are happy to pull him away from his desk when he starts to look a little crazy around the eyes.
Today is actually not one of those days. Because he'd gotten up this morning, dressed very carefully in some very specific items in front of Eggsy before heading off to work on a few things with a nearby architect. He leaves promptly at 5'o'clock, comes home with a bottle of wine and a little bouquet of flowers.
He's feeling a little romantic, so sue him.
Striking a careful balance, he manages to get the door open, drops his keys in the bowl nearby. Kicks his shoes off and goes to find Eggsy, who is likely stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on the arm with her painted toes for all to see. ]
You know, I was half expecting to get tackled as soon as I walked in.
[ Growing up in a council flat, Eggsy hadn't even had the slightest desire for a partner. Especially not a big bruiser with a thick cockney accent and ugly tattoos all across his shoulders and down his arms. Especially not a fine-boned ponce with beautiful clothes and carefully-coiffed hair.
And yet...
Somehow, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, she's wound up with not one, but two partners, both in business (in crime) and in love. And both of them are exactly the kind of men she would have sworn up and down weren't her type. Somehow, it works. Not only does it work, but it works beautifully. And not just the sex, although that is something worth writing home about, were she in the habit of scandalizing her mother with lurid tales of her sex life, which she isn't, thanks very much. In some strange twist of fate or kismet or whatever you want to call it, the three of them slot together like puzzle pieces, each of them filling in the others' cracks, good qualities and bad qualities alike. There are fights between them, some serious and some not, some about work and some about everything else, but it's been a very rare night indeed that Eggsy has gone to sleep alone since she washed up in dreamshare, and she's very appreciative of that fact.
She is well aware of how lucky she is. Not just to escape the council block, but to find two separate men to love her, flaws and all.
Eames has fucked off somewhere, and Arthur insisted on going in to work for some stupid reason or other, which has left Eggsy alone for most of the day. Normally, that would mean she would either spend her time alone napping, playing video games, or perhaps keeping her petty thievery skills sharp, but through some bolt of divine responsibility, she's instead spent most of her day off with a binder of notes in her lap, studying everything Arthur has laid out for her in his neat, precise handwriting.
The front door opening doesn't alarm her. She has a gun strapped to the bottom of the coffee table in front of her, and a throwing knife tucked between the edge of the chair and the cushion she's sitting on. If an intruder somehow got through Arthur's security system, she won't be left defenseless.
It's just Arthur, though, and she uses those painted toes to push off from the coffee table, sending the Lay-Z Boy chair she's currently lounging in spinning on its rotating axis so she faces the entryway, allowing her to give Arthur a broad smile. ]
Arfur, darling. I've been working. You should be proud of me.
[ No wonder it was so quiet when he walked in. She's in her favorite chair, the one she and Eames fight over on occasion, leafing through the report he'd tossed onto her stomach on the bed early this morning. Arthur could honestly kiss her and not just for doing work.
All she's wearing is one of his shirts– he can tell, it's not as loose in the shoulders as one of Eames'– and a pair of panties. His mouth goes a little dry and it takes him a second to pull his eyes up to a respectable altitude. One that isn't the line of where the shirt hem sits on her nicely shaped thighs. ]
I'm always proud of you. But I'm especially so, in this moment.
[ Walking over, he bypasses Eggsy and her chair, takes a seat on one of the nearby stools from the breakfast bar. ] Hey, got you some presents.
[ As he passes by her, she holds out her hand to trail her fingertips across the nearest part of him, a habit she's grown so used to indulging in she sometimes forgets herself and does it in the middle of a job in front of the other members of the team. Thankfully, when they work with someone like Ariadne, she mostly ignores what they're doing, used to the weird threesome relationship they've got going on and too focused on her work to care about anything else.
When it's some other architect they don't know as well...
Let's just say Arthur's pissy glare hasn't dimmed in its effectiveness whatsoever. ]
Presents? [ She sets down the folder and slithers off the chair, padding barefoot in his wake to come stand behind him so she can wrap her arms about his trim little waist and lean against his shoulder as he sits at the bar. ] You spoil me.
[ When he passes by, he feels the ghost of a touch along the edge of his arm, something that makes him smile. Eggsy is handsy, always wanting to touch in some manner. At first, he'd hated it, flinching away at the casual contact.
Now he knows he'd miss it, if she ever were to stop. Which, when she's pissed, she withholds and that's half the reason he capitulates so quickly.
She isn't mad here though and in a few moments, she's in his space, her body pressed against his back in a warm, familiar line. Tension leaks out of his posture and he leans into the embrace, happy to be home. After a second, he unzips his shoulder bag, first pulling out the cellophane and paper wrapped flowers, holding them out for her to take. Once she has, he'll set a bottle of wine on the counter– a favored brand of both of them. ]
[ Sometimes, Eggsy wishes she could verbalize the sort of keyboard shortcut Japanese acronyms that signify how cute she finds something, especially when it's something Arthur does. (Sometimes, Eggsy does just that, cooing "oo-woo" in response to something her boyfriend does, much to her other boyfriend's amusement.)
She immediately buries her face in the flowers he gives her, making a happy little noise in the back of her throat as she inhales the distinctive smell of lilies and daisies and peonies, an obscenely eclectic bouquet that obviously means he had it made especially for her, at premium prices.
One would think a girl might get jaded after earning her first five million on a single job alone. One would be wrong.
She may or may not squeal when he brings out wine. ] Arfur! [ Turning her head, she smacks a big, obnoxious kiss to his cheek. ] You lovely creature, you. You ain't gotta romance me, there ain't no man alive I love more'n you.
[ She purses her lips for a second, then winks at him. ] Don't tell Will.
[ Instantly, she's shoved her whole (very cute) face into the bouquet, practically cooing. Arthur's seen her light up in all kinds of happiness and this is just another moment to file away. Another thing that has him smiling, easy and genuine.
That happens more and more, these days. Sometimes, he wonders how he got through life, before.
When she gives him a kiss, it's possible he goes even a little pinker, the color spreading from his face up to his ears. It's dumb, but it makes him feel boyish, young and naive. Not necessarily bad things, just definitely out of the norm. ]
Secret's safe with me. [ His smile goes a bit conspiring, eyes edged with mischief. They are criminals. If anything, this is something to jokingly hold over Eames' head. Something both of them can use to get him to do them a favor.
Sobering some, he reaches out to straighten the collar on her (his) shirt, raising a brow. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
my telltale heart's a hammer in my chest // arthur/eggsy
Well, not just him, Eggsy has the same information.
Because the three of them live in some odd harmonious polyamory. Arthur had never seen himself as the type to share easily, but when it came to the arrangement, it just worked. Maybe it's the fact that they're all criminals. Or maybe their personality traits balance out in the end. He knows he can be a bit married to his work– either Eggsy or Eames are happy to pull him away from his desk when he starts to look a little crazy around the eyes.
Today is actually not one of those days. Because he'd gotten up this morning, dressed very carefully in some very specific items in front of Eggsy before heading off to work on a few things with a nearby architect. He leaves promptly at 5'o'clock, comes home with a bottle of wine and a little bouquet of flowers.
He's feeling a little romantic, so sue him.
Striking a careful balance, he manages to get the door open, drops his keys in the bowl nearby. Kicks his shoes off and goes to find Eggsy, who is likely stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on the arm with her painted toes for all to see. ]
You know, I was half expecting to get tackled as soon as I walked in.
no subject
And yet...
Somehow, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, she's wound up with not one, but two partners, both in business (in crime) and in love. And both of them are exactly the kind of men she would have sworn up and down weren't her type. Somehow, it works. Not only does it work, but it works beautifully. And not just the sex, although that is something worth writing home about, were she in the habit of scandalizing her mother with lurid tales of her sex life, which she isn't, thanks very much. In some strange twist of fate or kismet or whatever you want to call it, the three of them slot together like puzzle pieces, each of them filling in the others' cracks, good qualities and bad qualities alike. There are fights between them, some serious and some not, some about work and some about everything else, but it's been a very rare night indeed that Eggsy has gone to sleep alone since she washed up in dreamshare, and she's very appreciative of that fact.
She is well aware of how lucky she is. Not just to escape the council block, but to find two separate men to love her, flaws and all.
Eames has fucked off somewhere, and Arthur insisted on going in to work for some stupid reason or other, which has left Eggsy alone for most of the day. Normally, that would mean she would either spend her time alone napping, playing video games, or perhaps keeping her petty thievery skills sharp, but through some bolt of divine responsibility, she's instead spent most of her day off with a binder of notes in her lap, studying everything Arthur has laid out for her in his neat, precise handwriting.
The front door opening doesn't alarm her. She has a gun strapped to the bottom of the coffee table in front of her, and a throwing knife tucked between the edge of the chair and the cushion she's sitting on. If an intruder somehow got through Arthur's security system, she won't be left defenseless.
It's just Arthur, though, and she uses those painted toes to push off from the coffee table, sending the Lay-Z Boy chair she's currently lounging in spinning on its rotating axis so she faces the entryway, allowing her to give Arthur a broad smile. ]
Arfur, darling. I've been working. You should be proud of me.
no subject
All she's wearing is one of his shirts– he can tell, it's not as loose in the shoulders as one of Eames'– and a pair of panties. His mouth goes a little dry and it takes him a second to pull his eyes up to a respectable altitude. One that isn't the line of where the shirt hem sits on her nicely shaped thighs. ]
I'm always proud of you. But I'm especially so, in this moment.
[ Walking over, he bypasses Eggsy and her chair, takes a seat on one of the nearby stools from the breakfast bar. ]
Hey, got you some presents.
a million years late /)_(\
When it's some other architect they don't know as well...
Let's just say Arthur's pissy glare hasn't dimmed in its effectiveness whatsoever. ]
Presents? [ She sets down the folder and slithers off the chair, padding barefoot in his wake to come stand behind him so she can wrap her arms about his trim little waist and lean against his shoulder as he sits at the bar. ] You spoil me.
all good fam
Now he knows he'd miss it, if she ever were to stop. Which, when she's pissed, she withholds and that's half the reason he capitulates so quickly.
She isn't mad here though and in a few moments, she's in his space, her body pressed against his back in a warm, familiar line. Tension leaks out of his posture and he leans into the embrace, happy to be home. After a second, he unzips his shoulder bag, first pulling out the cellophane and paper wrapped flowers, holding them out for her to take. Once she has, he'll set a bottle of wine on the counter– a favored brand of both of them. ]
I know I miss the romance mark sometimes, so.
[ Is he blushing? Maybe. ]
no subject
She immediately buries her face in the flowers he gives her, making a happy little noise in the back of her throat as she inhales the distinctive smell of lilies and daisies and peonies, an obscenely eclectic bouquet that obviously means he had it made especially for her, at premium prices.
One would think a girl might get jaded after earning her first five million on a single job alone. One would be wrong.
She may or may not squeal when he brings out wine. ] Arfur! [ Turning her head, she smacks a big, obnoxious kiss to his cheek. ] You lovely creature, you. You ain't gotta romance me, there ain't no man alive I love more'n you.
[ She purses her lips for a second, then winks at him. ] Don't tell Will.
no subject
That happens more and more, these days. Sometimes, he wonders how he got through life, before.
When she gives him a kiss, it's possible he goes even a little pinker, the color spreading from his face up to his ears. It's dumb, but it makes him feel boyish, young and naive. Not necessarily bad things, just definitely out of the norm. ]
Secret's safe with me. [ His smile goes a bit conspiring, eyes edged with mischief. They are criminals. If anything, this is something to jokingly hold over Eames' head. Something both of them can use to get him to do them a favor.
Sobering some, he reaches out to straighten the collar on her (his) shirt, raising a brow. ]
Stealing my wardrobe again?